Trouble Vision (16 page)

Tim gave her a sly grin. “You could stay and talk to me while you’re waiting.”

She smiled back. “You know, normally I would, but I’ve got an important errand to take care of before I go to work. Rain check?”

“You got it.” He lifted his hand, then took a step away from her car to let her back up.

She got the car turned around and made it onto the next street. It was one she hadn’t used in years, and she drove slowly, marveling at the new stores that had sprung up in place of the houses that had once stood there.

Antiques stores, souvenirs and beach supplies, an ice cream parlor, a beauty parlor . . . Clara slammed on her brakes. Fortunately there was no one following behind her. Parking wasn’t allowed at the curb, and she had to pull into a side street, park and then walk back.

She turned the corner and started walking back toward the beauty parlor. Looking up at the sign over the door, she was satisfied that she hadn’t imagined things. The sign was decorated with red hearts and pink swirls around the name: “Annabelle.”

Clara pushed open the door, and bells chimed a jaunty tune until she closed it behind her. There were two customers seated in pink recliners, feet bare and hair wrapped in rose-colored towels. Two assistants hovered over the women, one bending over to examine fingernails while the other attended to the toes.

The shop was heavily scented, and elevator music played in the background. A woman with startling orange hair standing up in spikes hurried forward, her bright red lips split in a smile. “Welcome! Welcome to Annabelle’s! Are you here for the special? A full day of pampering, complete with delicious snacks? Nails, hair, body, the works?”

Having recognized the voice, Clara gulped. “Ah, not exactly.” Looking at Annabelle’s painted face, she was more certain than ever that George couldn’t possibly be having an affair. Not with this woman, at least. “I assume you’re Annabelle?”

The woman’s smile slipped. “Ah, yes, I am. How may I help you?”

“You know George Dowd?”

The smile returned. “Ah, George! Such a nice man. Lucky woman, that wife of his. He adores her, you know. Not many men would set foot in our pretty little parlor to book a day’s beauty treatment for his wife.”

Clara was beginning to understand. “George booked the special for Stephanie.”

“Ah, yes, I believe that’s her name.” The woman’s face crinkled with concern. “You won’t breathe a word to her, will you? It’s supposed to be a big, dark secret. It’s for their anniversary, you know. He has plans to take her out that night. Somewhere very special, he said, and he thought she’d enjoy getting gussied up for the occasion. He’s arranging everything and he doesn’t want her to know until that morning.”

“So it was you who called the house the other day.”

Annabelle gasped, one hand over her mouth. “Oh, goodness. Did I give everything away? I made such a silly mistake. George gave me two phone numbers and I called the wrong one. I’ll never forgive myself if I’ve spoiled his surprise.”

“You didn’t spoil it,” Clara assured her. “Stephanie has no idea.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Annabelle fanned her face. “Whew!” She laughed. “So what can I do for you, then?”

“Oh!” Clara backed toward the door. “I just stopped by to make sure everything was set for the big day. I’m Stephanie’s cousin.”

“Oh, how lovely to meet you. Yes, rest assured we will take care of your cousin. Mrs. Dowd will look and feel like a new woman when she leaves here.”

There was no way Clara would spend a day in that place with all that preening and fussing going on. Stephanie, on the other hand, would probably love every minute.

“Are you sure we can’t do something for you?” Annabelle pranced forward. “That hair, for instance. A trim? Just a touch of color?”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Clara backed all the way out the door, then spun around and sped back to her car.

She could still smell the perfume on her clothes as she drove to Thelma’s house and parked at the curb. The good thing was that she was sure Stephanie’s husband wasn’t cheating on her. The bad thing was that she couldn’t tell her without spoiling the surprise.

She’d have to think of some way to calm Stephanie’s fears without spilling the beans about George’s anniversary gift. Meanwhile, she needed to concentrate on how to find out if Thelma had deliberately lied about going shopping with her son on the afternoon of the robbery.

Thelma answered the door, looking surprised to see her. “Of course I remember you. You’re Karen’s friend, right?” she said when Clara reminded her who she was.

“Right. I was there when you told Karen you were moving. I thought I’d stop by to see if you needed help with anything.”

Thelma seemed ill at ease, and she stared at Clara as if trying to figure out the meaning behind her words.

A quiver of apprehension ran down Clara’s back. Something—the Quinn Sense? Her own instincts?—was telling her this was a mistake

As if sensing her discomfort, Thelma’s face cleared. “That’s so sweet of you, hon, but I’ve got everything under control.” She put a hand up to her hair, and the sun glinted on her diamond ring. “I’ve got time for coffee, though, if you want to join me?”

“I’d like that. Thanks.”

Clara followed Thelma into the living room. A pile of boxes sat in a corner next to a table holding sheets of white wrapping paper, a box cutter and rolls of tape. Thelma moved an open box half full of books out of the way so that Clara could sit on an armchair.

“I hate packing,” Clara said, looking around. Across the room, leaning against the wall, was a large box with a picture of a flat-screen TV on the front. Next to it was a box apparently holding a desktop computer.

Thelma must have seen her looking at them, as she waved a hand at the boxes. “My son took me shopping. He’s a good man, my Ray. He knows how to take care of his mom.”

He was certainly doing a great job of it, Clara thought, considering he was unemployed. So he had taken his mom shopping after all. Had Thelma had the days mixed up when she told Dan it was the day of the robbery? “I think I saw him,” she said, smiling up at Thelma. “I think he was driving a brand-new red sports car. It looked expensive.”

Thelma had that odd look back on her face. “Oh, that!” Her laugh sounded forced. “No, that’s not Ray’s. He borrowed it from a friend when his own car wouldn’t start.” She shook her head. “He’s got to get that old clunker fixed, or buy a new one. It’s always letting him down.” She headed for a door on the other side of the room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll make us some coffee, then you can tell me all about the bookstore.”

Clara watched her leave, struggling with indecision. Did Thelma suspect that Ray had robbed a bank, or was she simply a mom closing her mind against the possibility that her son could be involved in a crime?

Whichever it was, it seemed unlikely that she would admit anything. Clara’s only hope was to catch her out in a lie and right then she didn’t have the faintest idea how to do that.

Staring at the boxes again, Clara remembered her vision. Ray running out of the bank, ski mask pulled over his face, wearing the distinctive black shoes with the gold stars. Shoes that he hadn’t been wearing when she’d seen him in the diner.

What had he done with the shoes? Did he know that someone had seen them and would remember them? If so, he surely would have gotten rid of them. Or had he?

She felt a quiver of excitement. If she could find the shoes, she’d have the evidence she needed. Dan would have to believe her. She would have to tell Dan about the witness in the bank, but since she didn’t know her name, she couldn’t tell him who she was. Would it be enough? It was a chance worth taking to find out.

She got up from the chair and walked over to the kitchen door. Thelma was at the counter, pulling down mugs from a cabinet.

She looked up as Clara asked, “Could I use your bathroom?”

“Sure, hon. It’s down the hallway, third door on the right.”

“Thanks. I won’t be a minute.”

It took only a moment for her to figure out which bedroom was Ray’s. His clothes were all over the floor. A quick glance told her the shoes weren’t in plain sight.

Under the bed? She bent down to look. There were empty beer cans under there, one worn slipper and a half-full bag of potato chips, but no black sneakers.

Straightening, she headed for the closet. She had to rummage around in a pile of plastic bags, boxes and clothes before she found what she was looking for—one black sneaker with gold stars on the side.

With a little gasp of triumph, she picked up the shoe and backed out of the closet. Now all she had to do was get out of there with it.

Carefully she opened the bedroom door, then crept down to the bathroom and slipped inside. Trying not to think about where the shoe might have been, she stuck it in the waistband of her pants and pulled her sweater down over it.

Walking into the living room, she was surprised to find it empty. She’d expected to see Thelma sitting there waiting for her. She hesitated, wondering if she should wait for her to appear. It didn’t seem right just to walk out on her, especially if the poor woman was about to find out her only son was a bank robber and probably a murderer as well.

She could hear no sound from the kitchen, and quickly made up her mind. Maybe, after Ray was arrested, she’d come back and tell Thelma how sorry she was, and offer her help to get her moved.

With that settled in her mind, she started for the door. She was halfway across the room when a male voice spoke from behind her.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She froze, afraid to turn around. “I just came by to see if your mother needed help getting packed up to move.” She took a step toward the door. “She said she was okay so I’m leaving now. I have to go to work.”

“You’re not going anywhere, hon.”

Clara stared in horror as the front door opened to reveal Thelma barring her way.

Thelma looked past her to the man behind Clara. “I told you she was snooping around asking too many questions.”

“Well, now I have a question.” Ray came up behind her and spun her around with two hands biting into her shoulders. “What were you doing in my bedroom?”

Clara’s heart was beating so fast she could hardly breathe. “N-nothing. I mistook it for the bathroom, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah? You think I keep the can in my closet?”

“No, I . . .”

She gasped as Thelma came up behind her and pulled up her sweater. “Well, what do we have here?” She tugged the shoe out of Clara’s waistband. Glaring at her son she muttered, “I told you to get rid of these.”

“Well, I like ’em. I’ll be able to wear them when we get to Florida.”

“We won’t get to Florida if you don’t get rid of her.”

Clara barely recognized Thelma’s hardened face. All vestiges of the friendly, motherly neighbor had vanished, leaving behind a threatening, dangerous criminal. It all became clear now. “You were the second person,” she said, eying the distance between her and the door. If she made a dash for it, she might just make it outside. She was pretty sure she could outrun them both. “You helped your son throw Scott Delwyn off the scaffolding.”

Ray uttered a grunt of surprise. “How’d you know that? How’d you know about the shoes? Where are you getting your information?”

As if reading Clara’s mind, Thelma took hold of her arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Never mind how she knows. It’s enough that she does. That settles it. She’s gotta go.”

“But—” Ray began, but was silenced by a jerk of his mother’s hand.

“No buts. Tonight. When it’s dark. In the ocean.”

Clara’s spine froze. She tugged her arm, but Thelma’s fingers bit into her flesh, making her wince. “You can’t just murder me. You’ll never get away with it. I—” She was going to tell them that Stephanie knew where she was, until she remembered that her cousin had no idea she was in Thelma’s house. Besides, it probably wasn’t a good idea to drag Stephanie into this. These two monsters could go after her, too.

Thelma grabbed Clara’s other arm and twisted them behind her back, making her cry out. “Bring me that packaging tape over there,” she said, “and be quick about it. Our landlord will be here any minute to inspect the house.”

“What are we going to do with her until dark?” Ray asked as he crossed the room. “There’s nowhere to hide her here.”

“Put her in our storage unit.” Thelma tightened her grip as Clara struggled to free herself.

Desperate now, Clara blurted out, “I told Dan I knew Ray had robbed the bank.”

Pausing with the tape in his hand, Ray swore. “Why, you—”

“That’s enough! If Dan had believed her, he would have been here by now. Get over here and wrap her wrists with the tape.”

Terrified now, Clara fought as hard as she could, but she was helpless against the two of them. She was forced through the kitchen and out to the garage, where the red car sat in gleaming splendor. So much for the story about borrowing it.

Ray opened the back door of the car and Thelma shoved her prisoner inside. “Tape her ankles,” she ordered as Clara struggled to sit up. “Don’t give her any chance to escape.”

“You won’t get away with this—” Clara began, but Thelma thrust her face up close to hers.

“Of course we will. It will look like an accident. You went walking along the waterfront and fell in. Just like Scott Delwyn fell off the scaffolding.” She laughed, and the ominous sound seemed to rattle around in Clara’s head. “Without proof, hon, there’s nothing Dan can do.”

After binding Clara’s ankles with the tape, Ray climbed into the driver’s seat while Thelma stood holding the door.

“Aren’t you coming with me?” he said as she started to close the door.

“I can’t. I have to be here when the landlord comes to inspect the house. Just take her to the unit, lock her in and come back here. We’ll deal with her later, together.”

Ray didn’t look too convinced. “I don’t like this. How will I get her out of the car and into the unit?”

“She’ll walk, won’t you, hon?” Thelma leered at her. “Unless you’d like me to hit you over the head and have Ray carry you in there.”

Clara gritted her teeth. Right then she’d give anything to be able to punch that grinning face. “I’ll walk,” she muttered and leaned back on the seat.

“Make sure you tie her up to something when you get there,” Thelma said, and slammed the door.

The car slid smoothly out of the garage and into the street.

Clara stared at the houses as they passed, praying she could catch someone’s attention and signal that she was being kidnapped. It had started to snow, however, and no one was out in the cold wind.

How stupid she’d been not to tell Stephanie she was going to talk to Thelma. Then again, she had no idea Thelma was involved in the murder, and she just hadn’t figured on Ray being at home.

If only she could call her cousin. Clara shifted to a more comfortable position. As she did so, she felt her cell phone in her pocket. Thank heavens for her habit of carrying it with her instead of leaving it in her purse, which still sat in Thelma’s living room.

Catching sight of Ray’s face in the rearview mirror, she shifted over as far as she could go so that he couldn’t see her. Then she twisted her arms to one side and, after some concentrated probing, managed to hook the phone out of her pocket.

It fell on the seat, and she had to grope to find it again. It took a while to get it open, and then she had to feel the buttons to get the right ones. Praying she had it right, she jabbed out Stephanie’s speed dial number.

A second later she started talking, loudly, to cover any sound that might come from the cell phone. “Where are you taking me? Why do you think you can get away with this? Your mother is so wrong and I’m surprised you even listen to her.”

“Shut up,” Ray snarled.

At the same time, from down by her hip, she heard the faint sound of her cousin’s voice. Her spirits plummeted. It was Stephanie’s voicemail. Clara coughed loudly as the beep sounded for her to begin recording. She started talking again, fast and with intense desperation.

“Where is this storage unit you’re taking me to? You can’t lock me up in a storage unit.” She looked out the window. “Where are we? Isn’t this Fernwood Avenue? Is the storage unit near here? Dan will know you and Thelma killed me. You’ll never get away with it. Just because you got away with killing Scott Delwyn doesn’t mean you can get away with killing me. Everyone will know that Ray Hogan and his mother are murderers, and locking me up in a storage unit isn’t going to change that.”

“Shut up before I shut your mouth for you,” Ray yelled, just as the beep that ended the recording sounded on her phone. He swung the wheel, viciously, sending the car screeching around a corner so fast her phone shot off the seat and disappeared under the seat in front.

Exhausted, Clara slumped back. She’d done what she could. Now all she could hope was that Stephanie checked her cell phone before nightfall, and that somehow she would find the storage unit before the Hogans came back to kill her.

Stephanie grunted as she kicked open the back door with her foot. Loaded down with shopping bags, she staggered into the kitchen and dumped everything on the table. Grocery shopping was not one of her favorite things to do. She always ended up tired and grumpy.

Today had been even worse than usual, since she’d spent the morning worrying about George and a woman named Annabelle. Part of her agreed with Clara. Somehow she just couldn’t imagine George cheating on her.

George was the worst liar she’d ever come across. He’d never be able to hide an affair from her. True, he’d been acting weird the last few days, but now that she really thought about it, when would he have had time to see another woman? Unless he’d taken off from work.

Maybe she should call the auto shop and find out if he’d been missing lately. No, she’d put the groceries away first, then call.

By the time she’d finished stacking everything in the cabinets and fridge, she’d changed her mind again. She’d call Clara. Maybe she’d have some news for her that would put all her fears to rest.

She looked around for her purse. It wasn’t on the chair where she usually dropped it when she came in. After a quick search of the living room, she decided she must have left her purse, with her cell phone inside, in the car.

Before she went to get it, she decided, she’d better change the bed sheets and do the laundry before the kids got home. Determined not to think about George and what he might be up to, she put on her favorite CD and filled the house with music while she worked.

She had just turned off the vacuum cleaner when she heard the phone ringing in the living room. Molly was on the line, sounding upset. “I called your cell phone,” she said, “but you have it turned off.”

“Oh, sorry, it’s in my purse. I left it in the car.” She frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m slammed here,” she said, “and Clara didn’t come in today. I’m gonna be leaving in a half hour. What do you want me to do?”

Stephanie glanced at the clock. It was almost three thirty.
Where was Clara?
“It’s not like her to just not show up. Have you called her cell?”

“Twice. She’s not answering.” Molly’s voice rose. “I gotta go. I got people waiting.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Stephanie hung up, then dialed Clara’s cell phone. Her cousin’s recorded voice answered her.

Frowning, Stephanie replaced the receiver. Something must have happened. She thought about calling her aunt Jessie’s cell, but the number was on her own cell phone and she couldn’t remember it. She called her mother instead and asked her to pick up the kids, then called George.

He answered right away, and his voice did a lot to steady her nerves. “Don’t worry,” he said, when she told him Clara was missing. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. She’s probably got car trouble or something.”

“Then why hasn’t she called? She wouldn’t just not turn up without letting me know.”

“Maybe her phone battery’s dead. Why don’t you call Jessie and ask her.”

“I don’t want to worry her if she doesn’t know where she is.” Stephanie gripped the phone harder. “Something’s wrong, George. I know it.”

“Where’s your cell phone? Why aren’t you calling on that?”

“I left it in the car.”

“Well, she probably called you on that and left you a message.”

Stephanie closed her eyes. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “I have to go the store. Molly’s leaving at four. Mom’s picking up the kids. Can you pick them up from her on your way home from work?”

“Sure. Don’t worry, Steff. I’m sure Clara’s just fine. Let me know if she left a message on your cell phone.”

“Okay. I’ll check it on my way to the store.” She hung up, then hurried to the bedroom to change. Another night that she wouldn’t be there to cook dinner for George and the kids. It would be a miracle if her marriage survived all this.

It was snowing steadily by the time she climbed into her car. The clock on her dashboard showed ten after four. Molly would be waiting for her to get there so she could leave. Deciding to check her phone once she was at the store, Stephanie pulled out of the garage and set off carefully down the street.

Seated on the concrete floor of the storage unit, Clara tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Her back hurt, her hands felt numb and her entire body felt like it was encased in ice.

She’d wriggled and struggled so hard in the hours since Ray had left here there that she was now exhausted. Too weak to do much more than cry out every now and then, her voice too muffled by the tape that covered it for anyone to hear her.

It would be starting to get dark before long. Where was Stephanie? Had she heard the message Clara had left on her cell phone? Surely the police must be looking for her by now. Maybe her directions had been too obscure. Maybe there was more than one storage center near Fernwood Avenue and they couldn’t find the right one.

Even if they did find the right one, how long would it take them to check out every unit? Would she be able to make enough noise for them to hear her?

Fear and desperation swept over her, and tears started running down her face, soaking the tape over her mouth. It tasted horrible, and she worked her jaw back and forth and side to side, trying to work it loose.

It was then that she heard it. Faint, but unmistakable. A dog barking. A big dog barking.
Tatters!

She could hear the anxiety in his voice, and her heart skipped with hope. Gathering the last of her strength, she drew in as much air as she could manage through her nose, and let it out on the loudest screech she’d ever uttered in her life.

It sounded pitifully weak through the tape, but a dog’s ears could pick up sounds that humans couldn’t hear. Tatters’ barking grew louder, filled now with excitement. Now she could hear someone calling her name. Was it Dan? No, it couldn’t be . . . Rick?

They were at the door of the unit now. She could hear the voices outside, almost drowned out by Tatters’ frantic barking. Seconds later the door slid up, and blazing daylight momentarily blinded her.

She heard Stephanie’s voice as she tugged the tape from her cousin’s mouth. Tatters’ frantic tongue licked her face and finally, Rick’s arms pulled her to her feet and folded around her.

Another voice spoke. She looked over Rick’s shoulder and saw Tim standing there, a worried frown on his face. “Clara? Are you okay?”

She couldn’t seem to stop the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I am now,” she said, and buried her face in Rick’s shoulder.

Seated on the couch in her mother’s living room with Rick’s arm around her, Clara finally began to feel safe again. Her cousin had given her a mug of hot milk laced with brandy, and she could feel the fiery liquid spreading warmth in her chest.